Revenge
by Lost to time
Summary: I can not say that I loved to get into trouble. Rather, they constantly harassed me. And my fared quite well, while I, in my own fault, not concluded with him the damn deal that changed my life. Although the fact that it was all my fault, I did not agree.


Halsey — Castle

I don't say if I was a vandal — no.

Just sometimes I draw graffiti. Let's say one or two times a week. And my success in drawing graffiti ...

Okay, what torment - I don't know how to properly draw! I didn't have any normal pattern ... On paper, everything turns out just gorgeous. Let's sketch on three sheets named "Anastasia."

— Na-a-astya-ya-ya! — I shudder hearing sugary-sweet voice.

Again.

— Well?

— Have you gone to bed? — Perhaps the fact that now I'm standing in front of his window in warm clothes, just don't say that today I'll go before you. There is no hope.

— Yes! — I lied, zipper on the jacket. — What?

— Don't worry, go to sleep. — More quietly she added and removed in my room. A loud bang the door and now I do alone. It's necessary to clarify the situation.

The one that screamed — Lida. She's not my mother. And especially not a sister. If I think about how my life has appeared Lida, the mind I immediately comes the tale of Cinderella. On the threshold of our apartment, it occurred immediately after the out — let's face it — my father's life, left my mother. And now for the past four years, Lida lives in our apartment, with her two children: Kira and Alec, and when the father is not - has threatened to expel me. But now is not about that.

Not hiding will say that I — a loser. All my graffiti or bad, or ... Uh ... Second "or" no. But it is not so important. It was the same one I have a cool job. Drawn she was a professional, and at first I did not believe myself that it was able to draw.

But our world is not perfect. And unfortunately, it has been painted over. And I know who. Perhaps if it had been some wiper or if I did not know who plotted my job, I would not even upset. But it was not so. They refer to themselves as "Protestants". They are not very many, but they are operating all over our city, sometimes arranging meetings, ending the numerous beatings. I've heard a rumor that they are too self-confident and arrogant, but they perfectly blend in with the crowd. Fucking chameleon.

They even all their antics get away with, and the reason for this, for sure, their leader. I threw on the shoulder of a small black backpack, adjusting the strap ever decaying. It is an indispensable attribute of my nocturnal adventures.

Yes, I walk at night. I think it is not surprising, since many of my age walk in the moonlight, breathe fresh air and just have fun. Anyway, the run of the house, probably the most exciting that young people can come up with. Sitting on the windowsill, I again look in the bag: three cans lie quietly under the album with sketches. Fingering sheets rustling pages motley, slightly touching the paint. Ideally.

The hour of revenge struck, Protestants!

Overcoming feelings of fear, based on the fact that I can fall from the height of the second floor, I reach for the high oak branch that during rain or strong wind knocks my window and, after moving to the trunk, get down on the ground. I look around. Habitual intake of my monotony of everyday life left behind. Ahead of the new height. I long for this, for the first time. But, leaving unnecessary slight excitement, go ahead.

Quiet. In such a silence even want to forget about the fact that for a long time was going to a curfew for all minors. But I do not give it infinite light on many cars headlights. I just ran forward, losing touch with reality. Cool breeze nice slap in the face, and getting hot under the warm jacket. I notice the inscription on the fence, a gnarled, clearly made an ordinary brush.

Slightly grin: "Do not paint brush on the fence!"

Reaching the playground of the neighboring house, I sat on a brown bench with carved iron legs. Dropping her backpack on the edge, I slowly closed my eyes.

Today, the moon shines at night is not very bright, and the stars are almost invisible. One big sky, framed by a whole bunch clouds.

— Explain to me why we have to shove at night looking for the school hostel ?! — A loud voice takes me out of my thoughts. It is like an echo breaks into my subconscious. Anya — my best friend. We met recently, but I trust her as myself. It was she to know that I draw, joined me; it was she who kept the dangerous secrets of my nocturnal adventures. She herself almost never went with me, still liked to sleep. So I was often alone, but when he saw me the next day after a night walk, Anya, necessarily questioned everything.

— Revenge —a dish best served cold. In my case, they see graffiti spoiled out of the window. — I smiled as Anya took her behind the ear, a strand of blond hair and crossed her arms, clearly expressing its complete this outrage.

— When you were talking about it at school, your tone was less harsh.

— And not so happens ... Well, are you coming with me? — I noticed that for quite cold pores, my friend wore only dark blue jeans and a T-shirt. At that time, I myself sported in the same jeans and a black jacket.

— Of course, I'll go! — Anya shrugged, shaking his head from excess voltage pulled hard.

— How could I miss such fun.


End file.
